


The Butterfly

by lindsay_007



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: God Complex, Gratuitous Use of Capitalization, In the Beginning, Monologue, Post-Season/Series 05B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26215000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindsay_007/pseuds/lindsay_007
Summary: *Bo Burnham voice*This is a monologue from the perspective of God.
Relationships: God & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	The Butterfly

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something I felt I wanted to indulge after finishing S5b.

First, I am only Nothing.

But a Nothing with a nature -- creation. The problem is easily fixed.

So, I create myself. I separate the Nothing and the Creation. I stare at both sides of myself, and see there is Space.

The Space must be filled.

I am not alone. The Goddess arrives. She whispers to me about Potential.

The Space must be filled. We explode.

For a breath of a millennia, I marvel at the shapes where there were none before.

But the Nothing of me shadows them, cloaks them in Darkness, and I wished to See.

I said, let there be Light.

I saw the light, and it was Good.

I divided the Light from the Darkness, and there You were revealed unto me.

I see you and I feel Love. A love so bright, it reflects back at me.

I do not know what Love is yet, but it is in the shape of You.

All of You. My first souls, my first children, divided from every wavelength of the Light.

The more I create the more I am created. I have become your Father.

A father whose nature is to create. You inherit this from me. Each of You takes your turn sorting through the shapes in Space, seeing their potential.

The Goddess names you. You become articulated under her eye. She gives you faces, I see your sunshine. She says You must fly, I give Ypu wings.

We build. This is the Universe, the All.

Then -- one of You asks what we are doing.

We are creating, because it is my nature, and now it is yours. I think this is the simple answer.

But, this one asks more questions -- why, and how?

I pluck the soul who asked me the first question in existence, and bring him to my side. He is my favorite. I show him how to capture the light and shape it. He looks at the Darkness and sees Potential, crafting the stars. He decides the Morning is his favorite, and thus it is also mine.

He has my nature, and his own as well -- he is change, first of the butterflies.

Still, his questions grow. I do not know the answers. It occurs to me that I should.

I make myself omniscient. I will know everything of the Universe we have created.

Knowing has consequences -- the Nothing I am moves further away. Space begins to fill in on its own. Time and consequence spill forth, and choice as well.

I know what choice is. It terrifies me as I see a thousand thousand choices stretch out before me. Before I know it, I see the whole of time in an instant. There will be a Silver City, a galaxy, life, and death.

I see the Nothing push farther and farther away from me, and it too changes with time, becoming an empty place. It will rename itself one day-- Hell. The absence of me has a destiny all it's own.

Nothing can go back to what it was. I cannot unknow. I am changed. Where there was once peace and rapturous design, now I am bound to a Plan.

I know nothing else to do but to refer to my nature: I create.

The Silver City is made our home. The galaxy breaks and shatters against itself. You move its pieces into shape under my direction.

I hesitate to create life and death. I am not ready. Both will come at their own time. I know this.

I cannot unknow He will change the universe. I cannot unknow I will demand Him away. I cannot unknow that he will leave.

The Nothing, the most foreign bit of me, whispers, "He is mine."

I know this. It is part of the Plan.

The Nothing forgets -- creation is my nature, and so it is his as well.

"Not yet," I warn.

And not forever.


End file.
